


Revenge is Sweet

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Acephobia, Aphobia, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Bigotry & Prejudice, Caring, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, No Sex, Off-Screen Murder, Protectiveness, Victorian Homophobia, brief mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty and Moran meet with an old acquaintance of the professor who promptly attacks Moriarty's asexuality. Moran leaps to his lover's defence, leading to him wreaking deadly revenge upon the man who upset his beloved professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge is Sweet

   “I don’t agree with it, I’m afraid,” Professor Timothy Bannister announces.

    “Do you not?” Moriarty asks, and his voice is calm, as calm though perhaps only as a large river, where the depth of water masks the true turbulence far beneath the surface. Standing beside the seated professor, Moran notices the slight clench of his jaw, the subtle pout of his lips, and the look of sheer murder that flickers through his eyes. “I must confess,” he continues, looking at the contents of his tumbler rather than at his associate, “that I was not aware that this was a matter of whether or not one agrees, no more than the subject of ‘is water wet?’ is a matter of whether or not one agrees, it simply _is_.”

    “No, no.” Bannister chuckles as he sits up a bit straighter. “No, sorry old man, but no, I do not agree with you there.”

    “And why, pray tell, do you not agree with me?” Now Moriarty fixes his gaze on the other man – a narrow-minded man of little consequence, a former acquaintance from Moriarty’s previous university. They could never stand each other even then so it was strange indeed that Bannister proposed to meet up with Moriarty for drinks now, though it has become increasingly apparent to both Moriarty and Moran that Bannister only wished to meet with Moriarty again to attempt to reassert his own perceived superiority over Moriarty.

    Given their distaste for each other though perhaps it is even stranger still that they have somehow got onto discussing the topic of sexual attraction (and did so without any input on the matter from Moran, who might have seemed the most likely of the three to bring up some discussion of sex), though it is something of a favoured topic with Bannister. Moriarty is aware that the other professor recently wrote a paper positing that no woman is the demure, sexless creature that polite society likes to portray them as but that every single person has their rampant physical urges bubbling away beneath even the most seemingly calm exterior. Apparently it is something of a novelty however for Bannister to have a conversational partner inform him that not everyone experiences sexual attraction, that there are even _men_ who do not experience it.

    “All living things exist to procreate,” Bannister insists, “ergo they all have to experience the sexual instinct. It is quite, _quite_ impossible for a living being not to experience this innate, basic, natural attraction to another being of its own species.”

    “Even when I tell you that I do not and have never experienced such attraction?” Moriarty enquires pleasantly. “Are you, by chance, then calling me a liar?”

    Bannister takes a sip of his cognac and narrows his eyes in thought. “No, old man, not a liar, just…”

    “Deluded? Deranged? Quite incapable of judging for myself what attraction I do or do not experience?” Moriarty smiles pleasantly all the while he says these words.

    “No, of course not.”

    “Ah, then perhaps you merely think me entirely _unnatural_.”

    “Well, the sexual instinct… it exists in every living thing.”

    “Then you _are_ calling him a liar!” Moran spits, taking a step towards Bannister. Moriarty though catches the colonel’s sleeve and draws him back a pace. “You speak out of turn, sir.” Moran sits beside Moriarty on the sofa but continues to glare at Bannister.

    “I am merely stating a fact.”

    “Lies, sir.” Moran still glowers at him.

    “A former army man well known for his debauchery on at least two continents? And yet you deny that everyone experiences such attraction?” Bannister peers at Moran as if the colonel has suddenly become a far greater oddity in his eyes than Moriarty.

    “Maybe I wouldn’t have believed it once but I believe the professor,” Moran says firmly. “And therefore I know you’re wrong.”

    “Do not take offence but…” Bannister smirks slightly and waves a hand airily, “Moriarty, you are a professor of mathematics, what do you know of natural sciences? Or of the human mind?”

    “I am fully aware of my own mind, thank you,” Moriarty says in a clipped tone.

    “Well then… if you insist that you are such an _anomaly_ … I still do not agree with it. What purpose would such… let us for the sake of argument call it _asexuality_.” His tongue shapes this word with something approximating disgust. “What purpose would this serve amongst mammals? Amongst human beings? We may have risen above the apes and above all other species but even _Homo sapiens_ exists essentially only to reproduce. Ergo a human being who experiences no attraction to any ‘mate’, who experiences no desire to reproduce…  well such a thing… would be most disagreeable.”

    “Then we should be, what?” Moriarty enquires, that pretended pleasant tone returning, which to Moran seems to be a far more obvious danger signal than the clipped tones. “Culled perhaps, for the good of the species? So that we do not consume precious resources that could be better used by those who feel such a strong urge to procreate?”

    “I did not suggest anything so… violent.” Bannister sniffs. Although from a man who in the past has vehemently criticised the alienists who have begun to advocate for more humane treatment of the so-called _mentally feeble_ and claimed that with their misguided compassion these doctors are only adding to the burden such people place upon society, it is not inconceivable that such a notion has now entered his mind.

    “Then perhaps we must be _educated_ , by force if needs be, to see the error of our ways?” Moriarty’s fingers clench very, very subtly into the sofa.

    “I am simply saying, _if_ one accepts that such _asexuality_ exists amongst human beings then I do not agree with it.”

    “I was not aware that I required your agreement to exist.”

    “I do not mean to give offence.” Bannister waves his hand again.

    “And yet still you do anyway,” Moran says sharply.

    “It is not for me to pass judgement on your lifestyle, Moriarty.”

    “Lifestyle!” Moriarty laughs, and shakes his head from side to side. “No, sir, not a lifestyle, this is a significant aspect of my entire being you so casually dismiss as a mere ‘lifestyle’.” Contempt drips from his voice on the last word. “Do not, I bid you, confuse the choice of some men to remain celibate - for religious reasons, for moral reasons, for health reasons, or whatever other reasons they have for doing so - with the basic fact that some people simply do not experience this _sexual_ attraction for others.”

     “Then… you are saying you are _not_ celibate?” Bannister enquires, leaning forward a little. In doing so the red stone, set in gold, he wears on his watch chain dangles in the air, flickering as it catches the light.

    “That’s none of your damned business!” Moran cries out, standing up abruptly.

    “Sit down Colonel!” Moriarty commands him at once, and Moran sits, though he continues to glare at Bannister.

    “He is rather touchy,” Bannister remarks to Moriarty. “Why are you so quick to take offence, Colonel Moran? It is only my opinion.” Perhaps getting the very first sense now of just how dangerous Moriarty’s companion might be, he laughs, seemingly attempting to lighten the mood a little, but his laughter sounds somewhat strained. “You must not take offence, it is really quite absurd that you should fly off the handle so.”

    “That I do not experience such physical desires is not a matter of _opinion_.” Moriarty’s tone remains terse. “Do not dare to presume that I in any way require or need your _approval_ for what I am.” Beside him now Moran finally turns his steely glare from Bannister, softening his gaze at once when it comes to rest upon the professor’s face.

  _Give me the nod_ , that looks says, _just give it to me and I’ll end him right here and now_.

    Moriarty shakes his head, almost imperceptibly but obvious enough to Moran, and presses a finger to his lips, smiling behind it. _Not yet._

    “You are very touchy, Moriarty,” Bannister says.

    “So might you be if some ignoramus decided to wade in and dare to inform you that he does not agree that you exist.”

    “I can plainly see that you exist, it is your… your sexual attraction, or _lack_ of, that I know cannot exist. Sex is a biological need.”

    “No sir, _air_ is a biological need, _food_ is a biological need, _water_ is a biological need, shelter from extremes of heat or cold is a biological need. No man however ever died from not having sex.” He is aware though that beside him Moran smirks slightly at this remark, Moran’s own libido being very much higher than Moriarty’s. Moran would never seriously claim that he might die from a lack of sex, but he has jokingly said such a thing in the past.

    “It is not a matter merely of one man, but of his blood – ensuring the continuation of his bloodline specifically, and the species more broadly.”

    “Ah yes, of course, the old argument that all sex can only possibly exist for procreation – despite so much evidence to the contrary; all those gentlemen going out to find servants and whores to copulate with whilst strenuously trying to avoid impregnating them and spawning a brood of bastards,” Moriarty sneers. “Besides… the sexual instinct, as you call it, is hardly the same as the sexual _act_.”

    “I don’t quite follow,” Bannister says.

    Moriarty glances to Moran again.

    “I didn’t need to be attracted to a whore just to stick my prick in her, sometimes it just felt good,” Moran elaborates, causing Moriarty to smirk and Bannister to blush crimson at such coarse language.

     “But… but…” he stammers, trying to compose himself, “but you still experience the sexual instinct, even if you do not experience desire for that particular… that particular… _lady of the night_.”

    Moran snorts at this. “Indeed I do, but if I was not attracted to every woman I encountered, as I am certain you are not attracted to every woman _you_ encounter-”

    “I do not consort with harlots!” Bannister seems obliged to interject, as if his taste in women has ever been the matter under debate.

    Moran pointedly ignores this comment. “Then why is it inconceivable that a number of people exist who aren’t attracted in such a way to _anyone_?”

    “Because every living thing has a natural sex drive! A natural pull towards a potential mate! A natural desire to procreate with them! Anything else is inconceivable!”

    “Perhaps to a narrow-minded bigot with his head wedged up his arse,” Moran says.

    “How dare you call me a bigot, sir!” Bannister snaps.

    “I’ll damned well call you one when that is precisely what you are!”

    “Am I to be insulted for merely stating the fact of the matter?” Bannister demands hotly.

    “ _Insulted_ ,” Moran scoffs with a sharp bark of laughter.

    “For simply pointing out that the sexual instinct is a natural-”

    “Oh natural, natural, natural!” Moriarty interjects, shaking his head firmly again. “I grow weary of your parroting the same tired idea, Professor Bannister. Have you nothing new to contribute to the discussion? I had hoped for something more interesting from you but I’m afraid this grows tedious.” He yawns theatrically behind his hand.

    “Do you think this makes you somehow _special_?” Bannister enquires scathingly. “Your claim to not experience something common to all human beings? Professor James Moriarty, so unique, so superior!”

    “I make no claim to be unique; in fact I am certain that I am very far from unique in this.”

    “All right then, you claim to be one of some select few that is somehow superior?”

    “Those are your words, Professor Bannister, not mine.”

    “Perhaps you think sex is something shameful? That other people are so sinful and depraved for indulging in it.”

    “Actually I believe I am really far more open-minded on this matter than a good portion of society.” Moriarty after all has never had much time for most of society’s ideas about what is normal and correct and what must remain closeted and taboo, thinking much of it a load of hypocritical, contradictory nonsense. Sex has sometimes appeared to him a rather repulsive act, but shameful? He cannot say that such a notion has crossed his mind.

    Perhaps searching for a new line of attack, Bannister glances from Moriarty to Moran, then back. “You and the colonel here seem rather… intimate,” he remarks in a faux-airy tone.

    “Colonel Moran is a good friend of mine.”

    “Yes.” Bannister purses his lips. “Perhaps… not merely a friend.”

   Moran glares at Bannister coldly but keeps silent.

   “Indeed, he also manages certain business ventures for me.” Moriarty retains a perfect poker face as he says this. It is, after all, completely true, even if his words contain only the smallest portion of the truth.

   “No more than that?”

   “What are you implying, Professor Bannister? Do you assume that I feel some manner of sexual yearning for Moran? If I did would these so-called ‘inverted’ urges not then be further proof that I am ‘unnatural’?”

   “As I said, the sexual instinct is natural and innate. Sometimes, with people who are very sick in the mind, that instinct becomes _inverted_ and the sufferer becomes deluded and believes that they desire congress with their own sex. Still, while those desires may be the wrong way around, still they exist; they _are_ unnatural but still, they are only misdirected, after all.”

   “So in your opinion… being an invert, however distasteful you seem to find that, would be far more agreeable to you than being _asexual_?” Moriarty enquires.

   “Precisely.”

   Moriarty laughs sharply. “Well, Professor Bannister, I am afraid I can give you my word that whatever I feel for Moran, I have never experienced sexual attraction for him.”

   “Then you, sir, are wholly unnatural.” Bannister gets to his feet, eyeing Moriarty with disgust as he stands.

   Moran too rises again as if to confront the other professor but again Moriarty catches him by the arm.

   “How dare you?” Moran snarls at Bannister, unwilling to entirely go against his professor’s wishes to face Bannister directly, but unable to let such a remark pass without comment. “As if you think yourself so high and bloody mighty?”

   “ _You_ can hardly think this man normal, can you?” Bannister says, leaning towards Moran slightly, dropping his voice a tad, as if speaking with a co-conspirator. “A virile, red-blooded male like yourself, being the close companion of this… _person_.” He directs a withering glance at Moriarty. “I would be careful if I were you, Colonel Moran, in case his own peculiar form of mental sickness is contagious.”

   “Moran, _no_!” Quick as lightning Moriarty’s arms are around Moran, pulling him back, trapping his arms by his sides before he can strike Bannister. The colonel is rigid in his hold, coiled up with furious tension, but all his hatred and anger is directed forwards, towards Bannister, not towards his professor. He does not fight Moriarty, he only remains standing in his hold while glowering at Bannister.

   “On that note,” Bannister says, shooting the pair a further contemptuous glance, “I will bid you good day. It has been absolutely fascinating meeting you again, Moriarty, truly, but when you cannot seem to take a harmless comment with good grace I cannot say it has been a pleasure.”

   “No,” Moriarty says quietly, as he finally relinquishes his hold on Moran, “nor can I say the same. Goodbye, Professor Bannister.”

   Bannister does not understand why Moriarty smiles a tight-lipped smile, appearing somewhat like a snake about to strike, as he says this.

~

   “An ignorant, offensive little man,” Moriarty remarks when Bannister has gone. He moves to the sideboard and pours himself a large whisky. “Of course such traits can occasionally make for an entertaining encounter but he was simply rather boring. Really there was nothing of interest in his assertions.” He takes a long swallow of his drink, almost draining the glass.

   Moran stands behind him, watching him, uncertain as to whether his close proximity would be welcome or shunned at this time. Moriarty, he knows, is not wholly immune to being wounded by mere words and it remains frequently hard to judge whether he is truly indifferent or merely feigning it. “Professor…” He takes a step closer.

   Moriarty glances back over his shoulder and smiles sadly. “My dear Moran.” A relaxing of his posture is indication enough to Moran that he is allowed to go to him, to slip his arms around him from behind and embrace him, to rest his chin upon Moriarty’s shoulder, to offer him whatever comfort such physical proximity can provide. At times Moriarty shuns such gestures, at other times he seems to need it; tonight it appears to be the latter. He tips his head back slightly, resting it against Moran’s cheek, and lets out a long sigh.

   “Let me end him, sir,” Moran says quietly, so casually, as if he is asking for nothing more than to be allowed to purchase a new pair of gloves or to have beef for dinner instead of mutton.

   “And why, pet, would you wish to do that?” Moriarty muses. He sips the remainder of his whisky.

   “Because he insulted you! Because he all but called you a liar! Unnatural! Sick! He had no right to say any of that!”

   “Why do you care though, truly?” Moriarty twists around in Moran’s embrace and regards his lover intently. “Because your loyalty to me makes you willing to accept much without truly believing in it?”

   Moran’s eyes narrow slightly. “You doubt me?”

   “I do not doubt _you_ , but I know the intensity of your regard for me. I merely wonder if your loyalty and affection then eclipses all else, even what your common sense tells you.”

   “No, James,” Moran says fiercely. “You ain’t any of those things he called you, I know it. I may not understand everything about you and how you feel but I believe you, I’ve always believed you. For so long I thought you had no such interest in anyone. You always seemed so oblivious to such matters. I thought then… well, I thought you were one of them natural celibates.”

    “But what do you believe now?” Moriarty queries, putting his free hand to Moran’s cheek. “When I have bedded you enough times to lose count?”

    “I still believe you. The way you look at me… it’s not like with others, it’s like…” Moran pauses for a few seconds, struggling to find a way to express himself in a way Moriarty can comprehend. “It’s like there’s this subtle language that exists between people who are attracted to each other sexually, but you don’t speak that language and you don’t quite know how to read it either, and that ain’t really changed, even after all the times we’ve lain together.”

    “So, do you see me as lacking something then? As being somehow less than human? _Unnatural_?”

    “No, don’t you even ask me that again, it’s a part of you, and maybe you ain’t the same as most people but you are not lacking, you are not unnatural for that and damn it, I don’t _want_ you to be the same as everyone else either!” Moran looks at him fiercely, though without anger. This is a ferocity drawn from his passionate regard for the professor.

    “But do you believe,” Moriarty asks softly, pressing his face closer to Moran’s, “that I am alone in feeling as I feel? In your experience… _are_ there others like me?”

    Moran gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Do you want there to be?”

   “Yes.” Moriarty sighs wearily. “As much as I despise most of humankind, Sebastian, I am not immune to feeling isolated at times.”

    “You have me, Professor.” A slight lowering of Moran’s gaze demonstrates just how tentative he feels about making this statement. Still the colonel fears he is never enough – never _will_ be enough – for the professor. He feels he must say it though, aware that for all the professor’s self-confidence, even narcissism, at times he needs the support of another.

    A warmer smile though flickers across Moriarty’s features. “I know that, and I am immensely grateful for that.” He takes Moran’s hand in his and kisses the backs of his knuckles gently. “My loyal, sweet dove. But I have not always had you, and in some regards too… well we do not wholly understand each other, much as we may make the effort to do so and to avoid any miscommunication. I would like to know therefore that there are others who perceive things the way I do when it comes to the matter of this so-called _sexual instinct_. Do you believe that there are?”

    “I can’t say as I ever had in-depth conversations on the matter with anyone else of my acquaintance. If the matter of sex came up then I was generally too busy, well, you know.” Moran chuckles. “And, well, I s’pose it’s hard to judge sometimes if people are merely not interested in _me_ , or are not interested in anyone at all.”

    “But in your opinion?”

    “I don’t think you’re alone in it, no. I reckon that’s the way some people are.”

    “Hmm.” Moriarty glances over Moran’s shoulder. “I never could abide the man, you know. _Bannister_.” He utters the name with sneering contempt, shaping the name like a curse word, but this cuts through his downcast demeanour only very briefly. “He used to bully his pupils mercilessly also.”

    “You should have let me kill him, that’d cheer you up.”

    “I would not have you acting rashly.”

    “Removing that little shit from the world wouldn’t be rash.”

    “I was referring more to the manner of carrying it out than the action itself.” Moriarty’s gaze drifts back to meet Moran’s.

    “Ah.” Moran grins wickedly.

   “These things must be done in the proper time and place.”

   “Of course sir.”

    Moriarty sets his whisky glass aside and slips his arms around Moran’s upper body. “Not tonight though,” he says, pressing closer against Moran. “Tonight I would value your companionship. I feel a need to remind myself that not everyone in the world is unspeakably awful.”

    “James.” As Moriarty bows his head, leaning against him, Moran nuzzles into the professor’s hair and holds him tightly. “My poor James.”

    Were anyone else in the world to utter such words Moriarty would set upon them, accusing them of condescension, of treating him like a child or a weakling, but not Moran. The colonel thinks not to try to rise above him but only cherishes him and wants to keep him safe, not merely from physical harm but also to try to keep him from sinking into one of his black moods. Even so there are occasions when the professor could not tolerate Moran’s sympathy, finding it too suffocating, but tonight… well tonight, he decides, it is nice to allow himself to be simply held and comforted.

 ~

    Moriarty sees little of Moran for much of the next day. The professor throws himself into tidying up his study, although in the brief glimpse Moran gets of this before the door is closed on him he suspects that really this involves simply moving the piles of clutter to new locations around the room and doing actually very little to clear anything away. The colonel supposes though that even this is better than Moriarty simply doing nothing, losing himself in his introspection, musing upon Bannister’s words perhaps and allowing them to wear bit by bit, like water upon a stone, at his self-confidence. Besides, much as Moran would like to stay close to the professor and keep an eye on him, he has a pressing matter to take care of, one which in the end he is sure will have a far greater positive effect on the professor’s state of mind than hanging about playing nanny to him.

 ~

    Dinner comes around, and Moran is not yet back. Moriarty eats a couple of small mouthfuls in thoughtful silence before pushing his plate away. How much he has come to rely on Moran’s presence, he thinks; how much he has come to depend upon his companion being there for him even when he is himself steadfastly ignoring the man. How much, when Moran is out elsewhere getting on with other things, he keenly notices Moran’s absence, even if all the time Moran was close by he might not have given him a single conscious thought. He supposes it is rather like if someone were to turn off all of the background noise – the wind, the crackle of the fire, the tick of the clock, the distant sounds of the maid singing to herself as she cleans the floors, the birdsong, the dim rattle of cabs and carriages and clatter of hooves dulled by the walls and windows and doors of the house but still _there_ – all the sounds which one rarely troubles to notice when they are present but which one would miss if someone were able to turn them off in an instant. Yet for all that, Moran is no common thing, no mere part of the furniture. He is a rare treasure – Moriarty has always believed that to be so even from the beginning of their acquaintance.

    Does Moran miss him too when they are apart, he wonders. He is not so arrogant to presume, as deeply as he knows Moran cares for him, that he occupies Moran’s every single thought, but does the colonel still wish he was by Moriarty’s side again when they are not together? Moriarty does not know and is still contemplating this when at last the front door opens.

    When Moran enters the dining room Moriarty is sitting nonchalantly, plate pushed away, resting his elbows on the table before him with his fingers steepled together. “I thought you might return in time to dine with me,” Moriarty remarks.

    “Sorry.” Moran strolls over to him, smelling of cold damp air. He has his hands in his pockets still. “Couldn’t be helped, things took a bit longer than I reckoned for.”

   “Hmm,” Moriarty says, pointedly not looking at Moran.

     “You sore with me cos I missed dinner?” Moran asks, not entirely seriously.

     “It is completely up to you whether you return to eat with me or not. I assure you the matter is one of perfect indifference to me.”

     “I would if I could have, but, see… I brought you a present.”

     “Like a cat bringing in a half-chewed mouse?” Moriarty enquires, shooting a glare at Moran, though it is foolish to continue to pretend that Moran is the cause of his vexation – his ire is directed at that booby Bannister, and moreover at himself for allowing himself to be so easily bothered by the man and his ignorance, and Moran knows it. This is why Moran’s anger – so easily provoked at times - is not even pricked by Moriarty’s chafing.

     “Better than that.”

     “Is it Professor Bannister’s freshly excised heart?” Moriarty is perhaps only half joking.

     The colonel laughs. “Might have been nice, but I reckon that’d have made things a bit tricky.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and dangles something in front of the professor’s face.

     Moriarty looks at it, at the gold chain, at the red stone in its gold setting as it flickers in the light. “Petty theft, Colonel?” he says, with seeming disinterest. “How dreary you are becoming in your old age.”

     “Oi! Less of the old, if you don’t mind.” Moran pushes back the professor’s chair from the table, giving him room enough to slide over onto Moriarty’s lap. “And you didn’t ask how I came by this.”

     “You have been taking pointers from your pretty little harlot and pickpocket, Miss Winter?” Moriarty suggests with a coy smile.

     “I don’t need no pointers from her.” Moran takes Moriarty’s hand, turning it up, and drops the stone into his palm, letting the watch-chain curl around it. “Besides…” He smirks, “robbing him was the easy part. It were the rest of it was the hardest.” He closes Moriarty’s fingers around the red stone on its chain and then lifts his hand to the professor’s face, cupping his cheek.

     Moriarty closes his eyes as Moran gently strokes his face with his thumb. “Tell me,” he says softly, “how he died.”

     “Choking, about ready to piss himself, knowing he had wronged you,” Moran says in a low, conspiratorial tone, leaning forward a little. “Realising too late he’d shot his mouth off to the wrong people about his nasty little _opinions_ as I whispered to him _‘Professor Moriarty sends you his regards’._ ”

    “ _Good!_ ” Moriarty ejaculates, still with his eyes closed. He smiles more broadly. “I should have liked to have seen his face then.”

    “You wouldn’t, it weren’t pretty. Mind you…” Moran thinks about this briefly. “He weren’t the prettiest fellow at the best of times.” He laughs, and Moriarty opens his eyes once more to fix his gaze upon Moran’s.

    There is amusement in his eyes even as he asks, “You were discreet?”

    “Course I was. Discretion is my middle name, along with ‘Bloody Talented’. Bannister toddles along on his rendezvous to meet one of his _ladies of the night_ – he was most definitely shitting us there by the way when he said he doesn’t go with whores. Treats them despicably too by all accounts; I’ll tell you you’d be hard pressed to find one amongst ‘em who’ll grieve over losing his custom. But then, horror of horrors, a sinister figure springs from the shadows! And, well, bob’s your uncle, one minute that eminent professor is alive, next he’s dead as the proverbial doornail. Very tragic, evidently a robbery gone awry is what the peelers are saying, but then if these toffs will venture into such low places in order to get their leg over and flaunting their wealth in all their fancy togs, well, what can one expect? There are some very dangerous men in London.”

    “And the rest of his valuables?”

    “Disposed of most carefully, I promise you, as will this be soon enough.” Moran looks down at the stone on its chain, now dangling from Moriarty’s half-closed hand. Sure enough the chain will soon join Bannister’s gold watch itself, along with his signet ring and tiepin, in being melted down by a trusted acquaintance, while the stone will be recut and quickly rendered unrecognisable.

    Moriarty hands the chain back to him. “You are a man of many talents, Moran.”

    Moran’s mouth quirks into another grin as he pockets the watch-chain. “You don’t spend as long as I did in India without hearing a tale or three about the infamous _Thuggee_. Can’t say as I believed even half of it, but some elements of the stories were certainly most _inspirational_.”

    Moriarty idly strokes Moran’s sides as Moran sits astride him. “Those women,” he says after a moment’s thought, “the prostitutes he visited…”

    “Mm?”

    “You will ensure that they are not inconvenienced financially for their client’s untimely demise, won’t you? I would hate to think that I had unwittingly become a cause of their further downfall by removing a primary source of income upon which they had come to rely.”

    “Of course, Professor.” Moran leans even closer. “I’ll see to it.”

    The professor kisses him on the mouth. Moran’s lips are cooler than his, drier too, but the kiss is still soft and warm. “My dear Moran,” he murmurs after a few seconds, “whatever did I do to deserve you?”

    “I don’t know sir, but I reckon it must have been something bloody amazing.” Moran continues to lightly and absently caress Moriarty’s cheek with his thumb. “You feeling happier now?”

    “Indeed I am, you have succeeded marvellously in cheering me up. In fact, I think now you deserve something in return.”

     “Oh?” Moran pauses, letting his hand rest against the professor’s neck.

     “Mm, you may choose your reward.”

     “Anything?”

     “Anything, within reason.” Moriarty allows his hands to rest against Moran’s sides, cupping his hipbones through his clothing. “I’m afraid if you were to ask me to, say, steal the crown jewels for you I might regard that as a tad excessive.”

     “Well…” Moran glances sideways as he ponders the professor’s offer. “Sir, there is something.”

     “What, pet?”

     “Don’t laugh but…” Moran meets the professor’s questioning gaze. “There’s this nice Indian restaurant I know of and I’d like… I’d like to take you there.”

    Moriarty raises an eyebrow at this, somewhat bemused. “That’s all?” He has been expecting a request for some elaborate intimate game, or perhaps a brief reversal of their more usual sexual roles at least.

     “Well, no, I mean, I’d like to take you there and eat dinner with you and not then get banished to my own bedroom when we get back. I’d still like to sleep with you after,” Moran adds. Moriarty, being no great fan of spicy food – particularly the smell of it – has made it a rule that if Moran wishes to partake of strong curries then he has to sleep in his own room afterwards. He glances now at Moriarty’s plate on the table, with no more than a couple of bites taken from it. “You’ve hardly touched your dinner here, and I know you won’t want anything that’ll burn your tastebuds off but I’m sure there’ll be something milder you’d like.”

     “All right.” Moriarty smiles. “I suppose I can endure the smell of it for one night, but I still will not kiss you on the mouth if you reek of curry.”

     “Fair enough.”

     “And what about… afterwards?”

     Moran narrows his eyes, confused. “After what?”

     “After we return home, after I permit you to come into our bed, I presume you have more in mind than mere sleep?”

     “Not really, no, I didn’t think you’d want anything else tonight.”

    Moriarty regards his companion for a second or two again. “Still from time to time you manage to surprise me, Sebastian.”

     Moran laughs. “What, cos I might be capable of considering your feelings as well as my own?”

     “No, because you did not take this chance to play whatever sexual game you desire when I was offering it to you.”

    Moran pauses a moment, a vexed look on his face, as if it has occurred to him just what a grand opportunity he has missed. But this passes soon enough. He does not want to bed the professor on such terms, when it feels rather as if Moriarty is agreeing to sex more because he feels obliged to rather than because he truly desires it himself, even though realistically Moran is sure Moriarty will never agree to anything he does not really want. Anyway, it has been such a long time since he had a decent Indian meal. “Well,” he says, “I just really like a good, hot curry.” He tilts his head to kiss Moriarty on the lips again, seemingly determined to make the most of it while he can.

    “You had best go and change, if we are going out,” Moriarty points out after a moment of kissing.

    “Right.” Moran gives him another quick peck on the cheek before slipping from the professor’s lap. “I won’t be long.”

    Moriarty watches him saunter from the room, reflecting as he does on the difference between how he feels now and how he felt before Moran returned. He feels so much lighter now; gone is much of that heaviness in his chest. Leaving his almost untouched meal on the table he pushes his chair back further and stands up. Let the housekeeper or the maid do what they like with the food; he has a dinner engagement with his dear, loyal Sebastian.

    He even begins to hum to himself now as he strolls across the dining room whereas all day he has remained almost completely silent. Now though Bannister is dead and gone - good riddance to bad rubbish. Moriarty exits the room, still humming softly to himself. Revenge, he thinks, is most definitely sweet.


End file.
